Morning light flooded the palace's eastern corridors, painting everything in shades of gold. Miriam walked past tapestries and portraits, past servants who pressed themselves against the walls to let her pass.

  She noted which servants met her eyes and which looked away. Which nobles acknowledged her presence and which pretended absorption in conversation. After fifteen years, she could read the palace's mood in these small gestures.

  Lord Castellan rounded a corner ahead, spotted her, and immediately found urgent business in the opposite direction. His retreat was almost comical in its speed.

  Miriam allowed herself a small smile. The nobility had learned that Kings Justice meant consequences, not negotiations. Good.

  The crown prince's study lay at the end of the hall. Two guards stood at attention, hands moving to the door handles as she drew near.

  Miriam nodded to them and entered without breaking stride.

  Prince Theron was reviewing documents at his desk, a report held loosely between his fingers. His eyes lifted as she closed the door behind her.

  "You returned quickly."

  Miriam moved to the chair across from his desk and sat without waiting for an invitation. "I felt it prudent."

  Prince Theron leaned back in his chair, reading her expression. "Grand Magister Aldric's suspicions?"

  "It's Verath."

  The paper in Theron's hand crumpled.

  He set it down carefully, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles. "You're certain?"

  "I am. I met John Hale." Miriam paused, choosing her words with care. "When I tried to question him about his mentor, I barely noticed my own thoughts being redirected."

  The memory made her uncomfortable even now. She'd only just felt it. A gentle pressure, like fingers brushing against her mind. Guiding her attention elsewhere. Making the situation seem unimportant, easily forgotten.

  She'd sneezed. John had looked confused. And she'd almost moved on without noticing the manipulation.

  Almost.

  "The mental protection was unmistakably Verath's signature."

  Theron opened a drawer and withdrew a crystal decanter, the amber liquid inside catching the morning light. His eyes looked too tired for a man of thirty-three. "Aldric did warn us." He poured two glasses with steady hands and slid one across the desk. "What I don't understand is why Verath would have his apprentice go after corrupt nobles."

  Miriam focused on the glass for a moment. She had little stomach for drinking this early, but took a small sip anyway. The burn helped center her thoughts. "That's why I came immediately. John Hale stopped a child sacrifice ritual."

  The prince went very still.

  "I dismantled House Torvale," Miriam continued, her voice level and professional. "They'd hired Eric the Red for years, knowing how he operated. Used him for problems that needed discretion. Gave him money, resources, protection. And deliberately never asked what he was doing with them." She paused.

  "When John killed him and exposed the full extent of Eric's activities, they tried to cover it up. When I arrived and made it clear their efforts were futile, they sent a Mindbreaker as a final act of spite. If a commoner was going to bring them down, they'd make sure he didn't live to see it."

  Theron nodded once, processing the information. "Is there evidence of the cults involvement?"

  "I examined the ritual chamber myself." Miriam set her glass down. "The runes were thankfully incomplete. John killed Eric the Red before he could finish the manifestation." She met Theron's eyes. "Verath's apprentice is actively fighting the Cult of the Black Hymn."

  Theron stared at her for a long moment, then finished his drink in a single gulp. "That makes no sense."

  "It doesn't."

  "Then what is he planning?" Theron's voice was quiet. "What does Verath gain from doing this?"

  He leaned back, eyes distant as he worked through the implications. "If Verath wanted chaos, he'd support the Cult, not oppose them. If he wanted acclaim, he'd stop them publicly, not work through a weak proxy." His fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the desk. "Which means his goal is something else entirely. Something that requires the Cult eliminated but his involvement concealed."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Whatever that goal is, he chose a strange instrument for it." Miriam straightened in her chair. "John Hale is unlike any apprentice I've encountered. Low Rank One. No class. No active skills whatsoever. His stat distribution is insane. He's building himself like someone who is genuinely trying to ruin his own future."

  "Yet he's survived," Theron observed.

  "More than survived. He's thriving. Leveling at incredible speed." Miriam counted off on her fingers. "Killed a Mindbreaker. Killed Eric the Red. Discovered pre-Veil ruins. Found the overflow dungeon. Stopped a child sacrifice." She shook her head slowly. "And through all of it, he appears to have free will. Real autonomy. He makes decisions that surprise even those around him. If Verath is controlling him, I cannot see how."

  Theron paused. "He killed the Mindbreaker?"

  "She died attempting to breach his mental defenses. Along with her worm."

  The prince set his glass down carefully. "That shouldn't be possible."

  A moment of silence stretched between them.

  "Aldric believes it best to remain hands-off," Theron said finally. "For now."

  "I agree." Miriam picked up her glass again, then thought better of it and set it back down. "We don't understand what we're dealing with yet. Verath disappeared long ago. Vanished so completely we thought he might be dead. Until we know why he resurfaced, what his goals are, intervening could make things significantly worse."

  "So we just... watch him."

  "Leon seems to trust him. That gives us eyes on the situation without direct involvement. The Valebrants are reliable. Loyal. If John shows signs of becoming a threat, they'll notice."

  Theron was quiet for a long moment, his fingers drumming once against the polished wood of his desk. Then he reached for the decanter and poured himself another drink. He offered it toward Miriam, but she shook her head.

  His hand hovered a fraction above the rim, then returned to the desk.

  When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful, almost distant. "You said he has autonomy. Real choices." His eyes focused somewhere past Miriam's shoulder. "That's the part that concerns me most. If Verath gave him free will, it's because the boy needs it for whatever comes next."

  A soft chittering sound came from behind them.

  Miriam spun, sword clearing its sheath in one fluid motion. Theron's hands erupted with crackling energy, magic coiling around his fingers in bright threads, ready to strike.

  An old elf sat on the leather couch beneath the window, utterly relaxed. A rat sat on his shoulder. Its fur made of tiny leaves, and it held a miniature crystal staff in its paws.

  "Apologies for the intrusion," the elf said mildly, as if appearing in the crown prince's private study was the most natural thing in the world. "But the boy found a Heartwood tree in Thornhaven." He paused, letting the weight of that settle. "The city is about to become very important to us."

  The room went deathly silent.

  Miriam stared at the elf, her blade still drawn but uncertainty creeping into her expression. "You're..."

  "You know this elf?" Theron demanded, magic still crackling dangerously around his hands.

  "I do." Miriam's voice came out barely above a whisper. "He's from before the Veil fell."

  The old elf inclined his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment. "Yes. I survived what most did not." His gaze shifted to Theron, ancient eyes meeting young ones. "And I came to speak with you about what the boy has found."

  Theron's hands trembled slightly as he let the magic dissipate. Not from fear, but from the effort of restraining himself. "The palace has twenty mages on duty. Wards that cost more than most noble estates. And you're sitting on my couch like you were invited."

  "I mean no harm."

  "You bypassed defenses designed to stop gods." Theron's voice was tight, never taking his eyes off the elf. Every muscle in his body screamed tension.

  Miriam remained standing, sword still drawn. "Why are you here?"

  The old elf's expression was patient. "I understand your alarm. But what I have to say matters more than protocol."

  Theron's jaw worked silently. Every instinct screamed to call the guards, to activate every defense, to respond to this violation with overwhelming force.

  But the elf had walked through all of that already.

  "Very well." The words came out clipped, controlled. Theron gestured curtly at Miriam. She lowered her blade but didn't sheath it. He sat back down, tension still visible in every line of his body.

  The old elf met his eyes. "The boy told me the Ward Wall will fail."

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

  "He couldn't prove it. Couldn't explain how he knew, just the same certainty that led him to a Heartwood Tree even my people believed lost." The elf's voice was gentle, as if delivering a death sentence. "And given everything else he's been right about..."

  Theron didn't speak. He simply reached for the decanter, filled his glass to the very brim, and drained it in one desperate swallow. His hand shook as he set it down.

  "Pre-Veil ruins. An overflow dungeon. Eric the Red. The Cult of the Black Hymn. Mindbreakers. A Heartwood tree. The Ward Wall failing." His voice cracked slightly. "All in less than two weeks."

  "I genuinely feel sorry for Leon. Someone should send him a large bottle of very expensive wine. He's probably dealing with John's next catastrophe as we speak."

  "So I found this haunted mansion with friendly ghosts who want to adopt orphans."

  Leon stared at him from across his desk.

  Nailed it, John thought. "Also, I stole your driver."

  Leon's expression didn't change at all.